Day 19

Picasso said, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”

I’ve really enjoyed that quote. Today I lived it.

I was invited to paint on the grounds of an estate as one of the selected artists in their annual event. Each artist was stationed at a different spot across the property, with a different view.

Most were set up in front of ponds or gardens or mountains, painting their surroundings in oils or pastels or watercolors—delicate, precise, and deeply skilled.

I was the only abstract artist.

In front of me: trees—thick and steady, shooting up from a flat, perfectly maintained lawn.

Their leaves whipped in the wind, while the trunks stood planted, unmoved.

That contrast gripped me. Solid and stable trunks. Wild and free leaves.

I wandered the grounds a bit to connect with the environment and gather inspiration. I found a stick fallen from one of those trees, covered in a bit of lichen, glowing green against the gray umber. I held onto it, and I knew this color had to be in the painting.

I also took a rock and another stick to paint with.

I was six years old the last time I painted trees. That painting still hangs in my mother’s home. It has shocking similarities to what I did today.

Different time, same soul.

Similar to then, I didn’t paint the trees. I painted how I experienced the trees.

Their energy. Their pulse. Their stillness and their movement.

My canvas didn’t show realistic detail. It showed movement, texture, motion, contrast, chaos, and calm.

People stopped to observe me painting. Many were hesitant to speak to me—they could see I was dialed in—but when I invited them to talk, their curiosity unraveled.

Some people loved what I was doing. Others disliked it.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was between me, the paint, the canvas, and those trees.

What mattered was creating work that is alive.